


Reciprocity

by moomintrollz



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Cetra (Compilation of FFVII), Ensemble Cast, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Human Experimentation, Jenova Project (Compilation of FFVII), Magic and Science, Meet-Cute, Midgar (Compilation of FFVII), Minor Zack Fair/Cloud Strife, POV Alternating, ShinRa's Coporate Crime Highlight Reel, it's THEIR turn to be the decorative gays, of sorts. lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:47:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28788189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moomintrollz/pseuds/moomintrollz
Summary: Tifa’s trying to snuff out the anger in her heart by bringing ShinRa down. Aerith submits to routine testing with Hojo to feel like she’s doing something important. There are fugitives in the city of Midgar, and something is about to change soon.
Relationships: Aerith Gainsborough & The Turks, Aerith Gainsborough/Tifa Lockhart
Comments: 21
Kudos: 39





	1. A Nice Walk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for looking over this, danny! love you! any mistakes left behind on this are entirely mine.
> 
> i've got a decent amount of these chapters prewritten (almost two months' worth, if i post weekly) and this entire fic has been completely planned out, but it'd _still_ be bonkers of me to commit to any kind of posting schedule during a time like this. like everyone else, i am on the hashtag Struggle Bus. oy!
> 
> that said, i hope you enjoy the read. please drop a comment if you have the time. (the chances of me replying are pretty high, so sorry in advance. i literally never shut up. it's one of my biggest character flaws.)

Tifa’s initiation into AVALANCHE is being sped along by her business, to be sure, but she’s still untested. She knew it was a matter of time before she was asked to prove herself—really prove herself, so when she gets the call to help raid a warehouse in the wastelands on the outskirts of the city, she jumps at the chance. 

Barret and his bright-eyed core group, three nice-enough people Tifa’s own age, are full of energy. When Barret makes hand signals, they melt into place. When they’re done clearing one area or another, they mark it with something from the personal cipher she’s been struggling to master on her own with the quick sweeping movements of habit, winking at each other conspiratorially. They spend what feels like the entire day there, deactivating bots and rifling through files and wiping down surfaces behind them with some acrid smelling mako-solution, lowering the chances of being traced. (Wedge had explained to her it was diluted to all hell, maybe one part mako to four parts water, if that, and it still shines a sickly little green. How do SOLDIERS subject themselves to that?)

It’s going relatively well, and they’re nearly done, when Jessie picks her way into a room at the back and lets out a loud little squeak of alarm. She just barely moves out of the way in time for a young woman to rush into her, hands clasped tightly around a segmented staff. When she hears Jessie’s voice, and then sees all of them standing there behind her, wide-eyed and shocked, she lets out a laugh and lowers her staff. 

“You’re not ShinRa,” she says, eying them with red, swollen eyes. 

She’s wearing a flowy, light green dress, offset nicely by a fashionably out of season red jacket. The column of her neck is decorated with a glittering choker and several dangly necklaces. 

“Are you?” Barret asks, stepping forward.

He doesn’t raise his gun towards her, but Tifa can see the way his arm twitches, just once, the way it often does in the face of unpleasant surprises. 

She lets out one bright, loud laugh. Then, pleasantly, she says, “No, but they sure kidnapped me!” 

“That’s horrible.” Biggs scowls. 

“Nothing new.” The young woman shrugs one shoulder, and with a press of chaotically painted fingers retracts her staff into what looks like a harmless stick of lipstick. 

Before they can question her further, she pockets her weapon, brushes invisible dust off of her shoulders and dress, and says, “Goodbye now!” as she flounces away. 

They share an alarmed look and give chase, but there’s no sign of her when they turn the corner. Tifa smells the faintest hint of ozone; it’s a scent that seems to cling to the few low-level SOLDIERS they’ve run into, but Tifa has never seen a woman among SOLDIER’s ranks. Filled with a burst of inspiration, she trots back to the room Jessie opened. It’s decorated sparsely—there’s one scratchy drawing of copse of yellow flowers on the wall, a cot outfitted with a blanket, and a little table. On the table is a piece of paper, covered top to bottom with tight, neat handwriting. It’s just one sentence, over and over:

_You said I had more time._

Something about it strikes her as deeply, deeply personal. As her teammates shuffle up behind her, Tifa folds it and stuffs it into her back pocket. 

“Find anything, Tifa?” Jessie asks, in that tone of voice that says she’s not going to believe whatever answer Tifa comes up with.

Jessie thinks Tifa is a hack. She tries to be kind about it, but Tifa knows her conviction is always in doubt, that her small potatoes history makes her seem sheltered and idealistic. Maybe she is, in some ways. She can never seem to stop her neck from craning upwards when she’s topside. Who makes buildings that tall?. But, if comparisons are to be made, ShinRa destroyed her home; Jessie may have passion, but for Tifa, this is _personal_. 

“Just a bedroom.” Tifa says, around a sigh. 

They spend the rest of their time in the warehouse unsettled and shaky. When they’re done, Barret praises her for a job well done, and then instructs her to go home through Sector 5 before she returns to the restaurant. They stick together as much as possible while they’re doing their work, but they separate to leave when they can—if only to lessen the odd sight of a bunch of sweaty people, still thrumming with energy, sitting together on trains often ridden by nosy ShinRa employees. They found a few useful things, though: a blacklist of former employees who aren’t allowed to leave the city, and a flash drive filled with encrypted files. Other than that, they’d spent hours with only a possible witness, bruises, and scant information to show for it.

Covered in oil, grime, and maybe a little blood, Tifa feels like a veritable beacon of crime, standing trembling amongst the admittedly unflappable citizens of Midgar. She holds tightly to a handgrip for the entire forty-minute ride, feeling as though sitting down will somehow dispel the restless energy that’s built within her. Seeing that girl, their disappointing results, and the abruptness of the mission’s end has her feeling at loose ends.

Once the train stops at Sector 5, Tifa waits nervously to see if she might see anyone she recognizes; moments later, she finally convinces herself that if she were being watched she’d be in handcuffs by now, and decides to walk off her stress through the sector. Tifa doesn’t spend a lot of time here, but she always likes it when she does. There’s a brightness to it that can’t really be found anywhere else in Midgar, even topside. It’s lush with plantlife in places where that usually just doesn’t work in a reactor city: sprouting up from between cracks in the blacktop and bursting stubbornly through concrete walls. Natural sunlight beams in through the gaps in the plate and cuts through shanties to find its way here, she feels, illuminating the hardy undercity with a gritty kind of brightness. Tifa’s staring admiringly up at it all when someone bumps right into her with a little shriek of alarm, sending them both onto the ground.

“I’m so sorry!” Tifa bursts out, dismayed. She stands and offers the stranger a hand up, and then says, “Oh, it’s you!”

The girl from the warehouse accepts her help. Her hand is warm and calloused.

“Oh, rats...” the girl says, biting her lip around a nervous giggle, “Nice to see you again?” 

“You gave us quite the scare. Are you alright?” Tifa asks.

Her eyes are still red with tears, but the smile she gives Tifa is genuine, and it widens as Tifa busily helps her collect herself, nervously dusting off the chunky shoulder pads of her faded jacket. Her thick utility boots are damp with mud and stained with grass in places, and when she dips closer, in search of Tifa’s face, her wavy brown hair spills over her shoulders. 

“I’m Aerith.” 

“Tifa.” 

“You’re gorgeous, Tifa,” Aerith says, with this frank honesty that has Tifa letting out her own nervous little laugh. 

She has a habit of touching her own face when she’s nervous, but it’s aborted because Aerith won’t let her hand go, laughing and squeezing and saying No, really, she means it!

“Are you doing anything right now?” She tacks on. 

“Um,” Tifa hedges, “contemplating my dubious life choices?” 

“Oh? What were you doing in that warehouse?” 

“What were _you_ doing? Why are you being so casual about being,” and here Tifa lowers her voice, “kidnapped?” 

Aerith waves her free hand. She still hasn’t let Tifa’s hand go, and is rubbing absent circles into her wrist. “Secret for a secret?” 

“No way,” Tifa says. 

She smiles, like this is the answer she was hoping for. “Then I guess you’ll never know! And I won’t tell anyone that you’re probably a terrorist.” 

She really has to hold on tight to keep hold of Tifa’s hand this time, and it’s only the surprising strength of her grip that keeps Tifa from drawing on her lessons and escalating the whole thing. It’s not exactly a lie, and it was apparently bothering her more than she realized, because (to her horror), she can feel some tears of panic stinging the back of her eyes.

Tifa has not cried in almost seven years.

She swallows hard, and buries the swirl of helplessness threatening to build in her chest.

“Can I buy you lunch?” Aerith suddenly asks.

“Um...” 

“Come on, you wouldn’t just leave a girl hanging like that, would you? Consider it repayment for me bumping into you.” 

Against her better judgement, she says yes. They get barbeque and shitty beer, sit outside a food truck on wobbly plastic lawn chairs, and giggle to each other about how much their respective lives are messes. Aerith got bit by a spider this morning and it all went downhill from there. Tifa’s pretty sure her neighbor has been trying to get her kicked out of her apartment. Aerith still lives with her mom and feels guilty for staying out late. Tifa doesn’t have a mom. Their legs are intertwined under the table.

Aerith haphazardly wipes at where her mascara began to run, creating a dark smudge around her eyes that makes her look a bit like she hasn’t gotten any sleep. She has a bright laugh and she talks as she eats and she’s constantly tapping her chipped fingernails on whatever surface is available and at some point she pauses to throw her hair back and effortlessly twist it into this spiraling braid, the fall of her necklaces lingering where her dress dips. Tifa stares, stares, _stares_.

“So,” Aerith says, leaning back in her chair. “I’m kind of a mess. _You’re_ kind of a mess,” she counts off with her slender fingers as she speaks, thick bracelets tinkling, “you’re new here and I know this place like the back of my hand, aaaaand... I’m pretty lonely. Want to be friends?” 

“More than anything,” Tifa says, feeling selfish. 

When they’re done eating, Aerith loops her arms through Tifa’s and guides her to Sector 7 through back alleys and paths she didn’t even know existed. The first time they’re approached by someone, Aerith hastily wipes at her face and plasters on the fakest smile in existence in anticipation of the conversation that follows. People know her, and it should make Tifa nervous in a city as big as this, but it’s fascinating to watch the way Aerith matches the energy of those who approach her. She laughs ruefully with the uniquely cynical elders of Midgar, encourages the young folk complaining about finding work up top, and thanks the children with their little play swords for being such amazing neighborhood watchmen. Who’s this, they ask, and Aerith thankfully just says, This is my friend and she’s had a rough day so I’m taking her home.

They never once stop walking.

“Don’t worry if we run into monsters on the outskirts. I’ll protect you.” Aerith promises, so earnest about it that it makes Tifa blush.

“I, uh, know a thing or two about fighting.”

“Oh, I can tell. These arms are a _lot_ ,” Aerith hums appreciatively, squeezing Tifa’s bicep for emphasis. 

Tifa reaches for words and finds herself sputtering. Aerith cackles in her face, but once she’s calmed down, she says, “Still… it helps to have someone, you know?” 

Thankfully, they don’t run into any monsters. The city government of Midgar would like its citizens to believe two things: that they’ve got fiends under control, and that there are only certain ways to travel between sectors. Both are untrue. Tifa has seen people race doomrats and battle gorgers for money, and she’s seen them jump into sewers to avoid patrols with the groaning exasperation of habit. 

Shuffling through forgotten railroads and exposed parts of the city’s extensive wall system is undoubtedly illegal (nevermind that Tifa has aided and abetted many illegal things in the past few months), but there’s something privately thrilling about Aerith glancing over her shoulders and then tugging Tifa into a crack in the Wall. Aerith laces her fingers through Tifa’s to lead her through. They share hushed conversation, heads bowed. Occasionally, theypass a fellow traveler, who might dip their head in greeting or pause to ask Aerith if they’re close to this or that place.

Aerith always has an answer. 

Just once, the sound of plaster falling from a high place startles them. Tifa watches in fascination as Aerith’s free hand brightens with shifting blue magic. There are no materia on Aerith’s wrist bangles, though, and the pockets on her jacket look entirely decorative. Once the coast is clear, Aerith glances back over her shoulder and gives Tifa a wink, bringing one ringed finger up to her mouth in the universal gesture for silence. The rest of their journey continues in a similar anticipatory manner, and then Aerith is slamming her hand into a part in the wall at what genuinely looks like nothing for a few good minutes. There aren’t even any cracks. 

Then she says, “A-ha!” and tugs on Tifa’s arm. For a moment, it feels like she’s underwater. Her sight blurs, her ears fill, her nose burning against a harsh ozone smell. The only thing that is central is the sight of her own hand clasped tightly in Aerith’s, everything else a bizarre whirring of sound and color. 

And then they emerge into Sector 7 at sunset. The artificial lights on the underside of the plate have shifted from their harsh yellow undertone to the near fluorescent light blue of “night,” and vendors are coming alive with their nighttime menus. Tifa glances bemusedly back at the wall, which doesn’t look at all out of the ordinary, and gives Aerith a wide-eyed look. Aerith gives her an innocent smile. 

“What was _that_?” 

“A nice walk,” Aerith says, smile growing. 

Recognizing that she’s not going to get any real answers, Tifa gives her a tentative smile. “Thanks for that, then. I had a good time.” She’s surprised by just how much she means it.

“You’re not home yet!” Aerith protests. Then, quieter, she says, “I promise I’m not a serial killer.” 

Tifa giggles. “Really? That’s unfortunate. I have a lot of bills to pay.” 

“Noooo,” Aerith groans, but then she follows up with, “this city’ll do that to you, huh?” and her words are bubbling around her laugh.

She lets go of Tifa’s hand so she can link their arms again, and rests her head on Tifa’s shoulder as Tifa gives her a brief tour of the sector. It’s here where Tifa is in her element, losing some of the wrong-footedness that has been lingering with her all day. Gone is the ever-shifting brightness of Sector 5; Sector 7 is grit and graffiti and stray cats and kind people hidden behind surly faces. Aerith looks out of place, all busy clothes and loud jewelry—there’s a certain privilege that grants this, even under the plate, and the double-takes they get feel distinctly judgemental.

“This is me,” Tifa tells her, once they’re standing outside of 7th Heaven. “This is my bar, actually! Stop by and I’ll cook something for you, okay?” 

“That’s so cool,” Aerith says, visibly enthused.

Aerith releases her arm, breaking the little spell of her closeness. There’s a brief, lingering silence that doesn’t feel awkward so much as anticipatory.

“Thank you again.” Tifa murmurs.

“Thank _you_ for bumping into me!” Aerith says.

“But you said you were the one—” 

Aerith hums loudly, squints her pretty eyes as she tilts her head in question. “Did I, though?”

“Oh my gods,” Tifa breathes out in mock annoyance, charmed despite herself.

Aerith giggles, crossing her arms behind her back. “I’ll see you later?” 

“Of course. Will you be safe walking back?” It’s almost a silly question to ask, but she feels compelled to do it anyways.

Aerith begins walking backwards, her face illuminated by the 7th Heaven’s buzzing lights. She wags her fingers in a cheeky little wave, and they light up with that same bright magic in a flash so brief Tifa wonders if maybe she’s imagined it.

 _Yup_ , Aerith mouths.

With a wink, she’s gone, blending seamlessly into the crowd. 

Tifa stands there for some time, breathing in deep, until the sight of her bouncing pink hair bow is gone. She takes her key out and heads inside. She can see gear scattered on the tables, and is filled with a wave of relief. Only members of AVALANCHE have a spare key, so they’ve made it home safe.

Barret is on the warpath when Tifa rides the hidden elevator to their little hideout. She can hear him shouting all the way down. Biggs, Wedge, and Jessie all slacken with relief when she steps off, only to tense up again when Barret says, “Where the hell were you?” 

She says “I used some of the backways here. Walked through the Wall. I didn’t want to draw attention, but I got a little lost, and signal down there is bad, so…” 

“Oh,” Jessie says, blinking in surprise. “I... didn’t know you knew about those paths.” 

“I’ve been scoping them out for a bit in my free time.” Tifa lies, shrugging her shoulder. 

“Are you hurt?” Barret asks, brows furrowing at her no doubt awful appearance.

“A little sore, but that’s nothing a hot shower and some rest won’t fix. Are you guys okay?” 

They express similar sentiments, and then Wedge says, “You should have called when you got up, though. We were scared we lost you.” 

Tifa deflates, suddenly tired in the face of his earnest kindness. “You guys won’t lose me.” 

It’s really hard to tell what’s on Barret’s mind behind those sunglasses. She thinks maybe that’s the point. She knows he’s staring at her, though, and fidgets wordlessly until he says, “Good work, out there. You’re in.” 


	2. So Not Fine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> early update because i got some extra writing done. as always, danny, thanks for your help! any leftover mistakes are my own.
> 
> i've been unable to curb a sudden and intense craving for garlic bread, so i'm gonna tend to that now. hope you can get some good food, dear reader, and that you're staying safe!

Zack probably hears her before she actually makes it into the church, but Aerith tip-toes anyways. 

It’s dark enough in this little corner of her neighborhood that she has to squint to see, but when she opens the door to her church and two pairs of glowing eyes are aimed her way, Aerith has to put a hand on her chest to still the instinctual way her heart rate speeds up. They can probably hear that, too.

“Hi! Sorry, just wanted to check in on you.” 

One pair of eyes closes. Cloud, probably. Sure enough, she can hear his scratchy tenor grind out a low, “S’fine,” before he flattens himself back down on the pew. Beside him, Zack chuckles, his eyes narrowing with amusement.

“You guys can’t stay here for much longer,” Aerith says, deciding to just be out with it. “It’s not safe. I’m being watched by the Turks. They show up when they want to, and I… Have a sixth sense about these things.” 

The truth is, she’d ignored Hojo’s call for several days too long in favor of making sure the two of them were safe, and he’d gotten impatient and sent someone to contain her. He’ll be amused that she left, and he’ll want to know how she pulled it off, but he also won’t tolerate being ignored any longer. If she keeps it up, she’s staring down another month-long stint in the labs, and she can’t have that right now.

Zack is up on his feet just like that, and the quieter nighttime lights break through the exposed rafters to illuminate his face in a beam of lazy blue amongst the dark. His face is so alike, yet so different from what she remembers. He still has the same kind eyes and youthful half-smile, but he’s covered in scars and there’s a subdued air about him that makes eye contact desperately sad. Part of it has to do with Cloud’s long periods of lethargy, no doubt.

“You never told me why they watch you all the time.” He says.

She opens her mouth. “I’m, uh… an informant! For people under the plate. AVALANCHE. The terrorists, you know. So I sell them out sometimes. Pays the bills.” And tells a lie.

“Uh-huh,” is all Zack says.

The dubious note in his voice makes her laugh. He aims a crooked smile back down at her. He’s every bit as handsome as the first day she met him, she thinks, pained.

“If I wanted you to leave, I’d just tell you to go. You know that. But I mean it… they do watch me, and it’s not safe for you guys. I don’t even know why you thought coming back here was a good idea.” 

Except she  _ does _ know why, and feels all the more awful for it. Zack came back for her. Traveled the world for two years with it on his mind, and risked the love of his life to do it—all to make sure she was okay. She’s not in love with him anymore (they were teenagers, what did they really know about love anyways), but she knows in this moment that she may never in her life love another person quite the way she loves Zack Fair. She walks down the aisle and gives him a brief, tight hug, which he returns easily enough. 

“Aerith,” he begins, a million questions in his voice.

“Nope! Get some sleep. I’ll camp out with you guys. If they stop by in the morning, I’ll distract them so you can go. But you  _ have _ to go. I’m fine.” She promises.

She’s so not fine.

“You are so not fine,” Zack complains.

She shoves him in the chest, and then does it again because she’s frustrated with how he doesn’t even  _ budge _ , and he laughs, and it kind of feels like they’re seven years in the past again.

“This conversation isn’t over,” He tells her, pointing down in her face. 

She missed seeing that. It’s one of his funnier quirks. Zack seems to think pointing at someone makes his words more real.

“Whatever!” She says, turning on her heel.

Once she’s sure they’re settled, she sits down by the doors, pulls her boots off, and prepares herself for sleep. Harboring fugitives is tough work, especially after something of a heartbreak. Seven years, she thinks, half afraid he was either ignoring her letters or just dead, and the whole time he’d just been living a similar experience to the one that dominated her early years. Did they cut him open, she wonders? Does he still dream in mako green? 

Aerith had been so angry for a time. People don’t stay in her life. They pass through, and they are loved, and then they either get killed or walk right back out on purpose. Usually it’s the dying, so being abandoned hurts more when it’s on purpose. She feels sorry for every embittered ill wish, for every night she spent dreaming of telling him about the pain he caused, for every time she allowed herself to expose her belly and put letters into the hands of one of her life’s biggest antagonists in the name of love. 

Aerith is only twenty-two years old, but she knows a lot about loss. She kind of wishes she’d been allowed to think Zack was dead, because learning about what he’d been through may just have broken her in a new way. 

It won’t be hard to sleep sitting up. She’d done it for years, as a child in Hojo’s labs, and his recent explorations with her abilities unlocked a burgeoning ability to spell herself unconscious if she really feels like it, but a light sleep will serve lookout duty fairly well. She’s had her eyes closed for what feels like an hour when she hears someone walk gingerly up to her. A blanket is draped over her shoulders. 

“Thanks, Cloud,” she can hear Zack say. 

“Got you for a blanket, don’t I?” Cloud asks, and there’s so much warmth in his voice that it makes Aerith’s chest ache.

“Are you calling me fat?” Zack squawks.

“Sure am,” Cloud hums. 

She can feel him brush the back of one cool palm against her forehead, and then restlessly adjust the blanket, before walking away.

No Turks show up in the morning, but that’s no reason to relax. If they can’t find her in one place, chances are they’ll look in another, and Aerith has been having that stomach ache that usually only returns when the illusion of her normal life is interrupted by Hojo knocking on her door. They could be anywhere—at Elmyra’s house, or at the orphanage breathing down the necks of caretakers, or worse—walking leisurely through the streets with their weapons drawn, a quiet intimidation tactic that usually has at least one person cracking and sharing where they saw her last.

It doesn’t help that neither Zack or Cloud believe she’s actually okay. She’d be grateful for their worry if she wasn’t so afraid she’ll be the reason both of them end right back up in Hojo’s labs alongside her.

“Why are the Turks really after you?” Zack asks.

“I told you, I’m a secret international superstar and they want to sign me to their new music label.” She says, breezily.

Cloud huffs a little laugh, which makes her grin. Making him smile is so difficult that it always feels like an accomplishment—she can see why Zack tries so hard.

Zack gives them both a tired look.

“I can’t tell you that. And I don’t want to get you in trouble. Listen… you might not, um, see me. For a long time. But while you’re here, I want to help you in any way I can. Do you trust me?” Aerith asks.

“You  _ know _ I do. But I’m starting to feel like we need to take you with us when we leave.” Zack says, hotly, the displeased frown on his face growing.

She reaches over, gently plucks one of her flowers up from where they’re sprouting up through the ground. She tucks it behind his ear, and cups his cheek, running her thumb over the criss-cross of his face’s largest scar. “I wish you could.” 

“If we got in here, we can get out.” Cloud says, voice firm.

She doesn’t know what she did to deserve either of their faith in her. There’s a part of her that’s convinced they’ll hate her if they ever find out that she goes to Hojo on purpose. She swallows, and decides that they’ll never find out.

“And that’s why I’ve got to help you do it! Listen, I have a friend in Sector 7 who might be able to hold you for a little bit. How do you feel about staying with her until you see me again?” 

“Do you trust her?” Zack asks.

Aerith only just stops herself from admitting that she met her last night. In any case, the answer is yes. If there is anyone she can trust not to go running to ShinRa with two of their most wanted, it’s AVALANCHE. So she says, “Sure I do!” 

They’re impressed when she takes them through the wall, using the same pathways she herself exploits to get around. One of the few benefits of working with Hojo is that her magic is less of a mystery to herself, so she usually makes it to where she wants to go with minimal trouble. She can’t put these two at risk by showing them that, though, so the walk is longer than the reckless little jaunt she’d had with Tifa last night. The memory of it has her smiling goofily down at her feet, wide enough that it has Zack laughing and asking what’s on her mind. She waves him off.

They tell her a bit about their travels. They talk about sleeping dragons and picky employers and the worrying amount of ShinRa reactors digging their ugly metal talons into the ground, stealing from the Planet. Cloud loved riding Chocobos at the nearby farm, and Zack complains bitterly about how they’d nipped at his hair. They made it a point to take jobs from people who couldn’t pay, because how else would they get help? They laugh over inside jokes and bumpy truck rides and wild goose chases for so-and-so’s lost cat and this old lady’s tricky grandson. It makes her chest ache, the stories of beauty and tragedy in turns.

Zack is excited about the adventure of it all when she finds a wide enough crack for them to squeeze through, but he still has trouble with his big stupid shoulders. Cloud gives him a playful but scarily powerful shove in the back to get them all through, and they tumble undignified onto the ground in Sector 7. A little girl is staring imperiously down at them as they emerge, and then she rolls her eyes and keeps walking, the very picture of unfazed Midgar youth. They all share a look and dissolve into silent laughter, pillowing their faces in their hands and shaking their heads. 

“I kinda missed this city,” Zack snorts, pulling her and Cloud to their feet with two effortless tugs.

And that sobers her up just a tiny bit, but she hides it with a little smile. Cloud, always watching, gives her a knowing look, and she doesn’t like it when people see too much of her, so she sticks her tongue out at him and leads them to Tifa’s little bar. It’s early enough that some people haven’t come out, but street vendors shout their way, hoping to draw early morning customers. They do stand out a bit, Aerith in her red halter top and Zack and Cloud in the cobbled-together gear of mercenaries. That spells money. She wishes she’d thought this through a little better, but it’s too late to renege now.

They climb the stairs, and it occurs to Aerith that the place is definitely closed, and she has no idea where Tifa actually lives. Still, she breathes in and begins knocking lowly but insistently at the door. 

“Tifa,” She calls. “Tifa, it’s me, Aerith! I’m here to see you again! Tifa? Hellloooooooo?”

She hears Cloud let out a strange noise behind her, and glances at him over her shoulder. He’s not looking at her, though, his brows furrowed as he stares worriedly up at Zack. Zack has a similar look of worry on his face. Before she can question them, the door’s hinges creak as it opens behind her, so she turns around. 

Tifa’s got her hair pulled up into a top knot. It’s damp, some strands falling around her face in lazy curls. She’s wearing a plain white t-shirt and  _ unfairly _ short shorts, her toned legs on display. 

Smiling shyly, she says, “Nice to see you again so soon.” 

“Hi, gorgeous!” Aerith says, genuinely pleased to see her. 

Tifa flushes prettily at the greeting, and then she glances over Aerith’s shoulder, and the color leaves her just as quickly. Then, her eyes fill with tears. “Cloud?” 

Cloud bursts forth and pulls her into a tight hug, lifting her from the ground with the strength of his embrace. Tifa lets out a sobbing laugh as she curls her arms around his neck, pressing her face onto the side of his head. They stay that way for a little while. Cloud asks if she’s okay (Never better), how her father is (dead), when she got here (years ago), and says that he’s so sorry (She’s more sorry she wasn’t able to help him). Then she pulls back, her nose red, and smacks him sharply on the arm, telling him he’s stupid for ever trying to fight Sephiroth on his own. 

The name strikes a chord in Aerith’s chest. She’s spent the last two years weathering Hojo’s muttering about Sephiroth—about how they’re related, how it would have been great to test them together, and that it’s a shame she hadn’t just stuck around to get the same training and now they’ve got to start all over.

She looks up at Zack, stomach churning at the stricken look on his face. Sensing her gaze on his, he gives her a little smile and curls an arm around her shoulders. “Maybe we’d better go inside.” 


	3. We Go Way Back

After Cloud deposits her on the floor, Tifa ushers them all in and closes the door behind them.

She’s charmed when Aerith comes up to her and begins busily wiping her face clean with the flowy hem of her dress. Then she squeezes Tifa’s shoulder and asks, “We can leave if you want us to?”

“No!” Tifa blurts out, louder than she intended. Softer, she says, ”No, please don’t leave. How… how do you all know each other?” 

Aerith glances over her shoulder at Zack and Cloud, who are looking at them worriedly. “It’s… a long story. How about that food you promised?” 

Grateful for the chance to collect herself, Tifa agrees, and rushes off behind the bar to get situated in the kitchen. This, at least, is familiar. She’s had her world turned upside down two consecutive days in a row. What’s next, the return of General Sephiroth?

On her way to the bar, Zack catches her by the arm, and gives her a smile, as lopsided and genuine as she remembers it being. She can’t help but smile back down at him. 

“I’m glad you’re okay.” He says.

She doesn’t know what to say other than to choke out a thanks, feeling her eyes well up again, so she gets behind the counter and starts up a simple but hearty breakfast. She makes more than she usually would, even for the AVALANCHE crew. She remembers the innkeeper at Nibelheim complaining about how the SOLDIER appetite would put him out of business, and she also hasn’t missed the new mako glow in Cloud’s eyes.

“So, Aerith. You know how we talked a little bit about Sephiroth, that day in Nibelheim? And how we had a guide? That was Tifa here. She followed us up to the reactor and got hurt pretty badly. We never knew what happened, after…” 

“After Hojo took you,” Aerith whispers.

Tifa’s got her back to them, but she stills at the flatness in Aerith’s voice, so unlike any of the cheer that’d pulled her in yesterday. Tifa recognizes the name from a few scant files they’ve found, in AVALANCHE. He’s a Science Department superstar, and involved in a gamut of illegal experimentation campaigns, but that’s about all she knows.

“Yeah. Tifa and I, we grew up together. After Nibelheim burned, I was convinced she died. I thought it was my fault.” Cloud adds despondently.

At this, Tifa turns around, so she can give Cloud a reassuring smile. “Even if I had, that wasn’t your fault, Cloud. It wasn’t anybody’s fault but Sephiroth’s, and ShinRa’s.” 

Aerith perks up, smacking her hands excitedly onto the bar before facing Zack and Cloud. “Guys, Tifa is in AVALANCHE.” 

Tifa jerks in surprise, but hides it by turning back to the stovetop. Aerith’s guess had been scarily apt, last night, but the confirmation that she knew what they all were doing is oddly terrifying. She’s a little like Jessie in that way, Tifa thinks. She knows how to talk to people, and she especially knows how to read them—and apparently Tifa is an open book.

“Tifa, Zack and Cloud are wanted by ShinRa. You won’t see their faces on any wanted posters because they don’t want to admit to anyone that they lost more people. Zack and I used to date, and he came back here to make sure I was okay. But it’s not safe for them to be with me.” 

Zack tsks. “You still won’t tell me why, though.” 

Blinking, Aerith says. “But I did! I told you, the president is trying to woo me. He sends all these lovely gifts and gives me tickets to see shows in the hopes that he’ll win my heart. But I’m not that kind of girl.” 

Zack looks halfway between laughing and frowning. Cloud actually  _ does _ laugh, which makes all of them smile. Aerith turns her smile back on Tifa, which makes Tifa’s face heat up. She stares back down at her eggs. 

“Tifa, I know you’ve got a lot on your plate, but I was hoping you could let them stay with you for a little bit. They need to get out of here, and I’m probably gonna be… um, indisposed for a handful of days. If you can’t—” 

“Yes.”

“Yes? Yes, they can stay?” Aerith asks, sounding excited.

“Of course.” 

Barret is not going to be happy. And no matter how much she’d like for it to work, two grown men cannot stay in her small apartment with her. She’s putting herself at risk, but she’s got the upper hand. This is  _ her _ business. AVALANCHE needs  _ her _ space for their meetings. Barret and the rest will deal.

“How did you guys even meet, anyways?” Cloud butts in.

Aerith says, “Oh, we go  _ way  _ back.”

Tifa says, “We met yesterday.” 

Zack lets out a guffaw. “What the hell, guys?” 

Tifa turns around to face them. Aerith’s got her lips all pressed together like she’s trying not to crack up, but she loses it when Tifa meets her gaze, and they giggle together like naughty school children.

Cloud props his chin up with a fist and gives them a little smile. He seems tired. The Cloud she knew growing up was a mess of emotions. He was bratty and ambitious and a little bit mean. She’d seen some of that youthful fire that day in Nibelheim, when he’d carefully laid her out and then marched up the reactor’s stairs like they were a mountain to climb. Now, he carries himself with the preternatural grace of a SOLDIER, the weight on his shoulders almost a visible thing. What happened to him? To Zack? What does ShinRa want with them?

She serves breakfast, and leans on the bar to eat with them. Even though Aerith has a full plate, she playfully reaches out and nabs sausages from Tifa’s. Zack lets out exaggerated, obscene noises of pleasure, ducking and wincing as Cloud kicks at his ankles or reaches out to pinch him. There’s a sweetness between them. After sharing a brief but charged glance, Zack sighs and rests his head atop Cloud’s. Cloud immediately sways into it, and they sit there pressed together, like they’re transferring energy.

“What happened to them?” Tifa whispers. 

Aerith gives her a sad smile. “Same thing that happens to everyone ShinRa catches.”

Cloud scares her by saying, “Five years in a mako tank or on the operating table. Two years running from every blue uniform.” 

She’d thought she whispered lowly enough that they couldn’t hear, but she’s always surprised by the things people with mako enhancements can do. One of AVALANCHE’s reserve members is a SOLDIER deserter, and he’d once spent a lunch meeting staring irritated at a fly buzzing around his head before catching it soundly with his chopsticks. She’s seen the same man recover from wickedly broken bones by closing his eyes and determinedly shaking his limbs out, sickening crunches popping into the air as his body hurtled rapidly through the healing process. He’d been a SOLDIER Second Class. Zack was right underneath the general, and she has no idea where Cloud would be placed, but he’s certainly not the same boy she knew.

“Do you know anything about a Professor Hojo, Tifa?” Zack asks, pulling away from Cloud to look over at them.

Cloud rests his head on Zack’s shoulder, eyes fluttering closed. He looks listless and small like that. Tifa hopes it’s just the heavy food.

Tifa hums. “We know he leads the Science Department and he’s probably doing a lot of unethical work, but that’s about it. A lot of ShinRa scientists do that.” 

Zack laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Yeah, that’s one way of putting it.” 

Tifa starts cleaning up their plates. They all seem to have lost what’s left of their appetites in the conversation. 

“Well, you guys don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to share. If there’s anything I need to know to help you, please let me know, but… you’re as safe with me as I can make it. And it’s really nice to see you again.” She says, giving them all looks so they know she means all of them. 

Aerith beams at her as she heads off to stack the dishes in her sink. She hears Zack murmur something lowly, then Aerith lets out a little whine and says, “Oh, shut  _ up _ ,” as Cloud lets out a tired little laugh. It occurs to her that she just met one of them and hasn’t seen the others in years, but she feels more at ease with them in her bar than she’s ever felt with the people she’s working with. 

She likes them, to be sure. She looks up to kind-hearted, passionate Barret, and his daughter Marlene is the sweetest person Tifa has ever met. Biggs’ mother henning is more refreshing to experience than she’ll ever admit, and Wedge’s almost cartoonish goodness makes her want to do better on principle. Things aren’t always easy with Jessie, but they’ve had genuine heart to hearts, commiserating on the difficulties of being a young woman in a city like Midgar. The rest of their growing AVALANCHE crew, cobbled together from deserters and angry mothers and honeybees and intense youngsters with something to prove and unassuming old people no one would ever expect? They’ve given Tifa the community she’s been craving. They look out for each other. ShinRa may have branded them terrorists, but the meanings of words always sit with those who have the power to write history. They’re good people, and Tifa is proud to be working with them. But she hasn’t felt this same contentment in their circles. She decides then and there that she’ll do anything to keep them safe, if only to hold onto this feeling.


	4. Get Into Jail Free Line

It pains Aerith to leave the bar. Zack and Cloud enfold her into tight hugs, murmuring about how they’ll be waiting for her. She gives Tifa a hug that’s decidedly more tentative. This close, she can smell the faint clean scent of her shampoo, feel the warmth of her skin and the birdlike fluttering of her heart as Aerith presses a hand briefly to her collarbone when they pull apart.

“Are you going to be safe? Wherever you end up?” She asks, frowning.

Aerith shrugs one of her shoulders. “Are any of us safe? Really?”

“I’m serious. Do you need anything?”

Aerith feels a little silly for it, but she’s been staring at the wisps of Tifa’s flyaways for the entire morning, so she reaches out and tucks them behind the cutely round shape of her ears, making her dangling earrings tinkle musically. “Nope!” She says, popping the “P.” Tifa doesn’t look like she believes her at all, but she nods and lets her go. Aerith squares her shoulders and leaves the bar before she does or says more silly things.

When she opens the door, she catches sight of the ragtag bunch from the other day, who all pause and gape at her. Aerith stares back. Then she breathes in deeply, and shouts, pointing behind them, yelling, “Look! SOLDIER! SOLDIER is here! And many, many robots!” 

She wasn’t expecting it to  _ actually _ work, but they make cursory glances over her shoulders, which gives her just enough time to press her hands to her core and pull frantically on her magic, think about how much she wants to just _ Leave!  _ and then there’s that familiar, ugly tug in her chest, and she can feel her mom’s materia heating up against her scalp where it’s nestled tight behind her hair bow, and reality twists around her. 

She lands in her bed, filled with instant regret. It was stupid of her to do that, so soon after doing it just yesterday. This particular trick is difficult, and becomes easier to mess up the more she daisy-chains it together. Her head immediately starts pounding, the worst of it throbbing behind her eyes. Sure enough, when she reaches up to dab at them, she can feel wetness, and when she opens her bleary eyes she can see that her fingertips are covered with blood. Aerith lets out a shuddering little noise and lets herself cry. She cries for the unfairness of it all, and for the life she could have had. She cries for Elmyra, who had to put everything on hold to raise her, and she cries for Zack and Cloud, who it seems to her are good people that don’t deserve any of what has happened to them. And then she takes in one deep breath, swallows hard, and tells herself to get over it. 

She sits up slowly. Throws one foot down, and then the other, and stands. She turns her pillow over, making a mental note to wash it clean when she gets back, hopefully before Elmyra can see it. Grabbing some clothes, she tiptoes to the bathroom for a quick shower, and then heads downstairs.

Elmyra jumps when she sees her. She’s sitting at the table with her hair pulled back, glasses low on her nose as she stares tiredly down at the papers before her. The city and ShinRa give her a generous enough stipend for her husband’s service in the Wutai war, which supports their house and living, but she has to keep tightly to a budget. If she goes even the slightest bit outside of what is deemed a reasonable purchase, or if she earns too much from any job, they lose all of those benefits. It’s why Aerith works so hard to sell her flowers, and why she’d been firm about receiving pay for turning herself over to Hojo, going to her bank account only. She hates going in, but that money will support them when the government eventually finds an excuse to terminate Elmyra’s care.

She’s  _ not _ going to see the woman who raised her turned out on the street.

“Hi, baby,” Elmyra says, “I didn’t hear you come in! Where have you been? I was so worried.” 

Suffused with guilt, Aerith walks over and presses a kiss onto Elmyra’s forehead. “Sorry, mom. I had a long couple of days. I think they probably want me to come in again.” 

Elmyra frowns. “They just had you in last week.” 

Aerith shrugs, always uncomfortable to talk about it all. “I know. You know they’re never fair about it, though.” 

“That’s true. Still…”

“It’s fine, mom! When it’s over, let’s go topside for lunch.” 

“You hate going topside, sweetheart.” Elmyra points out, gently. 

It’s true, she does. She hasn’t been able to get over her childish fear that the sky is going to swallow her up. And these days, going topside just means a blur of bad days. Aerith could kick herself. The halfhearted attempt to derail the conversation had the completely opposite effect. 

“I feel like trying something new!” She says, spreading her arms dramatically wide.

The dress she chose for today, a caftan she’d sewed herself and dyed a deep magenta with her azaleas, completes the effect. In a fit of inspiration, she wills a little breeze to run through the windows, ignoring the way her stomach swoops in protest. The labs are going to be horrible. Elmyra finally, _ finally  _ smiles at her, which means she recognizes that the conversation is over. 

Elmyra makes her a light lunch, and then she climbs up the stairs to pack an overnight bag for her. This is their ritual. She’s glad she turned the pillow over, because Elmyra doesn't like messing around in Aerith's room when she's not there. By the time Elmyra makes it back downstairs, Aerith is putting her phone away, having dialed the all-hours line the Turks made specifically for her. Reno had called it her “get into jail free” line, darkly amused by it all. It’s only a matter of time before Rude knocks politely on the door. She’d asked that he be the one taking her two and from her lab appointments, mostly because he’s polite and indulges her small talk but otherwise doesn’t say much. He doesn’t make her uncomfortable like Tseng does, doesn’t make tactless jokes like Reno, doesn’t ramble like Elena, and isn’t clinically distant like Cissnei or the rest. 

“It’ll be okay mom. You’ll see! I’ll be back here to drive you nuts in a few days’ time.” Aerith says, standing up to pull her into a tight hug. 

She undoes her hair and hands her mom’s materia over for safekeeping. This is the one thing she will not let Hojo sink his teeth into. As far as she knows, he has no idea it exists.

“Be careful. Call me if you need anything.” Elmyra says, softly. 

She cups Aerith’s face in her hands, gives her a little flurry of kisses, and holds her hand as they wait. As she was expecting, there are three sharp knocks on the door. Aerith gives Elmyra one last hug, grabs her bag, and heads out the door.

“Sorry for the wait!” Aerith says, as brightly as she can.

“I’m sure.” Rude answers. 

He takes her bag like he always does, nods at Elmyra over her head, and leads her out into backroads with a steadying hand on her back. They walk in silence for a good time. 

“You should know this. Hojo’s been erratic lately.” 

Aerith laughs. “When is he not erratic?” 

He gives her what she thinks is supposed to be a quelling look. It’s kind of hard to tell behind the fathomless darkness of his sunglasses. The gravity of everything sinks in.

“Do you know why?” 

He purses his lips. Aerith counts to three, and then they say in unison, “It’s classified.” He raises a brow. 

“Just stay on your toes.” He warns her.

She sighs. One thing after the other, in the city of Midgar. They make their way to a familiar black car, and he puts her bag in the trunk as she climbs into the back set to lie down, like she always does before a trip to the labs. There’s a good chance she won’t be sleeping very well in the days to come, so it’s best to catch some rest on the hours-long trip to the labs. Rude slides into the driver’s seat, puts on the same quiet, meandering piano pieces he always does when he’s taking her in, and pulls off.


End file.
